


Never Leave Again

by JessieCade



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: 1920s, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Gangsters, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nick Carraway - Freeform, Romance, The Great Gatsby - Freeform, jay gatsby - Freeform, natsby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-07-23 05:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieCade/pseuds/JessieCade
Summary: Nick is more than happy to see that Gatsby had survived his near-death experience. More so than he'd like to admit, even to himself. The steady ground he has himself on begins to quake when it becomes obvious to him that Gatsby reciprocates his feelings, but he can't help that irking feeling that Gatsby only has it for him because of Daisy. Meanwhile, Gatsby makes it his mission to make sure that Nick understands that he loves him for him and no other reason. And, of course, that he'd never leave him again.





	1. More Than an Old Sport

He was alive.

Just an inch or so lower and he’d be dead, but he was alive.

Jay Gatsby lay in his cot staring up at the blurry ceiling with exhausted eyes. His breathing was shallow but just enough to where he could breathe and think not of Daisy Buchanan but of Nick Carraway.

He couldn’t remember how he got there. He did remember, though, that Daisy had called him just before he fell into the black abyss of the swimming pool. Remembering this, his heartbeat sped up along with his breathing and, almost like magic, a nurse had appeared by his side and carefully took his hand.

“Mr. Gatsby,” she said calmly, trying to give him a reassuring smile, “you must calm yourself, you’re in no state to afford a panic.”

He looked around a moment, noticing a tube going from his wrist to a clear bag above him, then noticing the slight tingling sensation where he had been shot. The numbing was slowly going away and he knew he was in for a world of pain, emotionally and physically.

“Nick-” he gasped, trying to force himself to relax, “Has Mr. Carraway come to see me?” He paused, “Or Mrs. Buchanan?”

The nurse thought a moment, contemplating not telling him out of slight jealousy. Being Gatsby’s nurse would give anyone a feeling of honor, and him being him, they’d want him for themselves. Especially if they got the chance to give him a sponge bath. That wouldn’t really be necessary, though.

“Y-es,” she said slowly, putting her index finger on her chin and taking her time to think, “come to think of it, Mr. Carraway was actually here earlier. He’s been checking in every other hour it seems like.”

He was disappointed, somewhat, that she did not mention Daisy.

“How long have I been here?” He asked with a quiet shock, his eyes widening. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Perhaps a week, maybe shorter. You’ve lost an extraordinary amount of blood and your doctors had to put you under.”

Her bluntness set him back a foot or two, but he continued forth, not realizing his breathing was back to normal. “Did I mutter in my sleep?” He wondered, frowning a bit. He wasn’t much of a sleep talker, but for some reason the answer to this question was imperative. He hoped if he did, he asked for Daisy, his sweet Spring flower. The thought of her, though, disheveled him.

“You asked for Daisy,” she confirmed. He smiled. “And Nick. You two must be good friends. Should I call for him?”

“At once!” Gatsby exclaimed, using his free hand to lift himself up on the bed. “He must think I’m dead, the poor thing- Let me call him myself, will you?”

He squeezed her hand lightly, sending just the right amount of electricity through his fingertips and up her arm to make her giggle, nod, and call for a telephone. A black rotary was set on a small, round table next to him and, as quickly as he could and without skipping a beat or number, he rang up Mr. Carraway.

Alone in his cottage home, Nick sat on his sofa, staring blankly at nothing in particular. The faintest whiff of a flower caught his nose, making him wonder when they, too, would die. Since Gatsby and Daisy’s visit, he hadn’t removed a single flower, letting them all wilt. That wasn’t his intention; he was going to take care of them, truthfully, but he had all but lost his will once the rumors of Gatsby’s death hit his ears and heart like bricks.

It was only about a week since that fatal night and he was already growing a shadowy grey stubble around his chin and below his nose. Misery had Nick in a vice grip and he almost didn’t answer the phone when it began to ring. At first he assumed it was Daisy, calling to ask if it was true, that Gatsby was really dead, and he was in absolutely no mood to hear anything she had to say or ask. He believed, that for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t really want much to do with Daisy nor Tom. True, it wasn’t their faults that Jay was in the hospital, but he still felt a sort of hate toward them that he couldn’t describe. Besides, he knew they wouldn’t have attended the funeral anyways. He asked for them, he was shut down. Why not shut down on them, too?

He picked up the phone though, on a whim, and the voice he heard nearly put him to tears.

“I’m alive, old sport.”

Despite his excitement, Jay’s voice was soft and tender. He was unaware of the extent of Nick’s worry, unknowing to the fact that he wasn’t really taking too much care of himself, so when he heard the faintest, most quietest sob on the other side of the line, he knew automatically that Nick wasn’t alright. Or, more so, un-alright than he presumed.

“Are you doing alright?” He heard Nick’s raspy voice ask, and somehow this made he completely forget about Daisy, just for the moment.

“I’m alright, old sport, but are you?”

His voice ended with a sort of tone that _almost_ made Nick feel okay, and hearing Jay’s voice made him feel a little better already, but something irked him so badly it prevented him from really being excited to talk to him. This happened often.

“Yeah,” Nick lied, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and trying to wake himself up by sitting up taller, “yes, I suppose I am. Did the nurses tell you I-”

“Came to check on me? Why, of course they did! But there’s no need to worry, old sport, I’m completely alright. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Nick smiled tiredly but with relief. “I suppose you are. Would you like me to pick you up once you’re discharged?”

“As long as you don’t mind it, of course.” 

There was a moment where the conversation ended and the line was quiet, neither of them knowing what else to say but not exactly wanting to stop talking. Nick was almost afraid that Gatsby wasn’t actually talking to him, that he was just so grief-stricken that he was imagining it, but then he heard his voice again and it made his world a little brighter.

“Have Edgar give you the keys to my Duesenberg, I trust that you won’t wreck it on your way over here, hmm?”

This almost made Nick laugh. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you forgot me!”

Nick couldn’t bring himself to laugh once he reached where Jay was standing in front of the hospital, but he did give the man a smile at his teasing remark. Seeing him standing, walking, _breathing_ \- it gave him a sort of childlike happiness that only Gatsby could seem to make him feel.

“How badly does it hurt?” Nick asked as without meaning to as he pulled away from the hospital. Jay patted the wound a few times and said it didn’t hurt too badly, but Nick could tell otherwise when he saw him flinch just a little when he did that. He decided to change the subject. “You know they found him dead by your pool, don’t you? Mr. Wilson?”

“God bless him and his family.”

Nick was flabbergasted at this statement. “The man tried to _kill_ you, Jay, and you say ‘God bless him’?”

Gatsby nodded. “He was just a lost man, old sport, and he had no idea it wasn’t _me_ that killed his wife that night,” his voice suddenly dropped, either as if someone could hear them or he was trying to convince him of something, “don’t you feel bad for him, too?”

Nick thought for a second and sighed a bit, not sure how to argue his feelings about it. “Yes, I guess so. “

In his agreement, Jay sensed a distasteful disdain in his voice and cocked a brow to give him a begging look. “Oh, don’t be so upset, old sport. I’m here and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

This relaxed Nick a little.

“Yes, I guess so,” he repeated, a corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. Satisfied, Jay sat back in his seat and took in their surroundings as they made their way to his home, smiling fondly as he usually did.

“Would you like to stay for tea?”

“Oh, I really couldn’t-”

“Oh, but you could!” Jay insisted, a hidden excitement in his voice. He was always an eager man, but Nick could tell there was something behind his words that he couldn’t quite find. He observed Gatsby a second as if he could see the secret on his face, but he couldn’t stare for long so he agreed. Besides, he hadn’t had much intake since the incident. Maybe some tea and lunch would do them both some good.

“I suppose you’d like me to invite Daisy as well?”

The smile on Jay’s face gave his answer away before he could, and Nick gave him a simple nod.

“Alright. But allow me to get ready first-”

“If you mean you need to shave, you could just use a razor I haven’t used yet. I’ve got many new ones somewhere…” Jay reserved himself to a mumble and he tapped his chin as he walked toward a hallway. Nick followed close behind, somewhat curious and somewhat not wanting to just stand alone in his glorious home. He didn’t like being awkward in front of others, especially Gatsby, but it was worse alone in a still unfamiliar place (despite having been there _many_ times before).

“Jay,” Nick tried unsuccessfully. He tried again. “Jay, it’s alright, I have one at home.” 

He reached for Jay’s arm to stop him and he did, but the look on his face as he turned around told Nick before he could get a word out that he didn’t want him to go, not at all. Then, all of a sudden, that smile was back on his face and he gave Nick a curt nod.

“If you insist. Might I call you a cab?”

“No,” Nick responded quietly, almost immediately. They were both standing still, now, tension growing around them. Nick had no idea what he was doing, but that was the usual, wasn’t it? “No, I suppose I could use one of yours if that’s really alright with you.”

His words seemed to make Jay relax and the stress in his smile lessened. “Of course, I don’t mind at all. I’ll find you a razor, and- and you’ll go phone Daisy, will you?”

Nick nodded, letting go of the man’s arm and turning back into the living room to phone his cousin. He didn’t really want to considering she hadn’t contacted him at all since before Jay was hurt. It was all over the newspapers and headlines and she hadn’t shown an ounce of regret or mourning to Nick. It disgusted him, but he did it anyways for Jay.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hello?”

A sweet, angelic voice floated into Nick’s ear and he was surprised that she had actually answered. She didn’t at all when he tried calling her a week ago. Maybe she knew, somehow, that he was calling from Jay’s phone and that’s why she picked up.

“Hello, Daisy,” Nick tried to sound cheerful, “Jay and I would like to invite you for tea.”

“Oh…” she said, disappointment thick in her voice. Nick couldn’t tell if she wanted to or if there was something else going on. “So Gatsby… he’s okay?”

“Of course,” Nick responded, his voice a bit hard, “so you know about what happened?”

“I meant to call,” she attempted, “really, I did, but-”

“But?”

She was quieter. “Tom and I…” Nick could feel her pouting from the other side of the line. “Don’t you understand, Nicky?” She asked, desperation in her voice. He couldn’t tell if how she felt was real or not and he wasn’t quite sure he cared. And though he didn’t want to see her in the first place, he was a bit upset she couldn’t come. It would have made Jay feel much better and that’s all he cared about at the moment.

“I do,” he said shortly, “so what should I tell Jay? That you don’t love him anymore?”

He didn’t mean to be so rude or blunt and he even felt bad for saying it like that, especially when he could hear her gasp, but it was something they were obviously dancing around. Daisy was quiet before she answered.

“Tell him I can’t make it today and I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, the line was cut and Nick was finding himself unable to put the phone down for he had such a tight hold on it he felt he could barely move. When he put it back on the receiver, though, he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. Standing in the entrance to the hallway was Jay with the most lost look that Nick had ever seen on a man. 

He had heard everything and his heart was broken.

“I found you a razor,” he choked, holding it out to Nick, “I’ll have Edgar fix our tea.”

“Jay, I’m-”

“Oh, old sport,” Gatsby whispered, putting the razor in Nick’s hand and putting his other on his shoulder. He was trying to force a smile, but Nick could see the intense pain in his eyes. “It was only a matter of time. But at least I still have you, don’t I?”

A tug on his heart made Nick smile gently and he nodded once. “Yes, you do.”

“Right then,” Jay said, turning his head to cough out the lump in his throat so he could speak clearer, “right then. You get cleaned up and I’ll have the tea readied. Shouldn’t take too much time. Is there a certain kind you like?”

“Earl grey is fine,” Nick assured, only aware that he had only ever had that kind. Jay nodded, forcing his smile wider as he walked past him into the kitchen. Nick continued on into one of the many bathrooms, ridding his face of the week-long depression stubble before coming back out. He wasn’t half-surprised to see that Jay still wasn’t in the living room- he was always easily distracted- but then he heard the man’s voice in the kitchen and he stood near the entrance, quietly, to listen in.

“He enjoyed the small, chocolate cakes you made last time. Make them again, won’t you?”

“Sir, wouldn’t you prefer me to make-”

“No, she… won’t be enjoying those here anymore. It will just be Nick and I for now, thank you.”

Nick could detect some sorrow in words and decided not to listen anymore, so he made his way to the couch and waited for Gatsby there. When he walked in, he sauntered over to Nick as if nothing was wrong. He was rather good at pretending he was fine. He was Nick’s favorite actor.

“What’s on your mind, old sport?” He asked softly, sitting rather close to Nick. Nick knew what he was about to say was obvious, written all over his face, but he said it anyways.

“I was sure you were as good as dead when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted, the sadness they were holding at bay creeping upon them once more, even more heavily, “I was a little lost, to say the least. I’ve never met a man like you before and wasn’t sure I would again.”

Jay was speechless. His whole life, he’d never had anyone care for him in such a way that Nick did. Maybe Daisy did, when they were younger those five years ago and freshly in love, but never really quite like Nick did. For the first time in a rather long time, even while he was with Daisy for that short time a little over a week ago, Jay felt a sense of belonging and like someone needed him. To tell the truth, he needed Nick, too.

“Why- thank you,” Gatsby said, patting Nick’s knee and giving him a smile, “you haven’t the slightest idea what that means to me, Nick.”  
The sound of his name on Gatsby’s voice and tongue made Nick see stars. It was so rare for him to be called by his name by Gatsby, always being referred to as ‘old sport’ (which, really, he didn’t mind), but Gatsby saying his name, for some reason, relaxed him to say the least. So much, even, that he had lost his vision and consciousness.

When he was back, Gatsby was holding a small, chocolate treat before him with a worried expression.

“Nick, are you alright?”

His name again. His heart jumped. 

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry-”

“When was the last time you had eaten anything?”

Nick almost laughed. Of course he didn’t get so excited he passed out, that was ridiculous. It was only then he realized he was basically starved. Perhaps he wasn’t as alright as even he himself thought. How troubling.

“I’m not sure,” he responded honestly, slowly taking the cake from Jay, “maybe yesterday or days ago. The last week has been a blur.”

“Well, eat up then!” Jay insisted, taking one for himself, “And you’re staying for dinner, I won’t hear another word about it. What would you prefer, lamb or beef?”

Nick smiled and shook his head, the situation making his head spin, “I couldn’t-”

“But you could, I insist.”

He couldn’t say no, and he didn’t much want to, but he sighed anyways. “I’m fine with whatever you want,” he said, smiling a little, “Jay.”

Jay paused at the abrupt use of his name, but then he smiled some more and nodded once before standing. “Alright,” he said, fixing the overcoat to his suit, “lamb it is. Let me fetch our tea and you can tell me about the last week’s events.”


	2. Favorite Flower

It was so rare for the Gatsby residence to be empty on a weekend.

Sure the man had a bullet hole in his chest, but he’d probably even throw a party if he had a broken leg or arm. 

It was late, though, and really the only person he wanted to stay around and could stand to be around was Nick Carraway.

The man was quiet and observant, two qualities Gatsby noticed almost immediately upon meeting him. He was a curious man who would rather wait for the answers to his questions rather than ask for them and Gatsby, subconsciously and desperately, wanted to give him all the answers in the world. It was an odd feeling, wanting to make another man happy, even if he was just a friend, but he didn’t care much about social standards anyway. He did what he wanted with who he wanted no matter the consequences. He could get away with a lot of stuff anyways.

Besides, he really only threw the parties for Daisy, and Daisy wouldn’t be around anymore. 

“Tell me how you’ve been,” Gatsby requested with a bit of wonderment, peering across the table at Nick who seemed lost in thought, “if anything’s happened since I’ve been… away.”

Nick thought for a moment, “They buried the Wilsons together… The newspapers seem to be worried about you, you’re all they ever talk about since it’s happened…”

“And you, Nick, how’ve you been?” Gatsby’s persistence didn’t startle Nick in the least, it was actually one of his favorite parts of Gatsby’s personality. He was confident, sleek and bold, and really just Nick’s opposite. Maybe he liked him because of that, or perhaps it was because he was a likable person. He seemed to always be honest with him, though, which was a quality they shared. He could lie to Gatsby all he wanted but he couldn’t bring himself to do it; he liked him too much and to lose his trust would be a tragedy on both ends. Besides, Gatsby had never lied to him, and if he did, he always ended up telling the truth later on.

So, he told the truth.

“Worried. Upset. Jay, I couldn’t sleep.”

Gatsby frowned, a deep but worried confusion in his eye. He was such an oblivious man.

“But why?”

Nick _laughed_ , not because it was funny but because _he_ was confused with how Gatsby didn’t understand how he could feel that way. It was _obvious_ , wasn’t it?

“Really, Jay, you can’t be serious.”

“But I am.”

He laughed for a few seconds more before seeing the seriousness on Gatsby’s face. Nick then frowned and looked at him curiously.

“I thought you were _dead_. I was already mourning, it… hurt to think that I had lost a good friend. You’ve done so much for me and I feel I haven’t repaid you in the slightest. I… missed you.”

Silence. Usually that was Gatsby’s least favorite sound, which also happened to be a small reason he threw such extravagant parties, but now he reveled in it. It was hard to believe Nick’s words, though not for really any reason. If Daisy had said them to him he’d believe them in a heartbeat, probably fall even deeper in love with her, but Nick was different. He was skeptical, even though he knew he was telling the truth. Nick wouldn’t lie to him, he knew that. But aside from having those feelings from Daisy once upon a time, he had never really experienced it from anyone else other than his parents. It was interesting, to say the least.

“A good friend?” Gatsby asked quietly, more to himself. Nick nodded slowly.

“Of course. You’re important to me.”

Nick wondered where his appreciation went from tea time. When he had said this earlier, Gatsby couldn’t have seemed to have been happier. Maybe it was finally hitting him that he was actually worth something to someone. Was he that lonely?

“But you’re better now, though, yes?” Gatsby asked, concern lacing his features. He seemed suddenly tired and Nick figured he was overstaying his visit.

Again, he was honest.

“I’m not sure…”

Urgently, Gatsby asked, “How can I make you sure?”

A pause, then to lighten the moment, Nick smiled lightly. “Well, you’re alive aren’t you? That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

This seemed to satisfy Gatsby, as Nick saw the rising tension in him start to lower, but it wasn’t enough.

“Will you stay here tonight, old sport? It doesn’t seem like you ought to be alone right now and I could greatly use the company. Perhaps we could go out on the dock and…” he thought for a second, “look at the stars, or take the boat out on the Sound. How about it?”

Nick felt unsure. Gatsby was the adventurous type, that was a fact, and had no regard for appropriate times of going out and doing whatever, but something seemed off about him and Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. It was obviously something sullen and painful- Gatsby was more of an open book than he would have liked. Unfortunately for Nick he liked to read, and he worried awfully. And why oughtn’t he be alone? It wasn’t like he was in any danger, after all, he wasn’t the one who had gotten shot.

“You might need some sleep.”

“I’ve been asleep for a week and I feel as if I could stay awake for a month!” Gatsby exclaimed, smiling widely and pushing down on the table to stand, ignoring the sudden explosion of pain in his shoulder. “Come, the night is young! I won’t take no for an answer!”

Before Nick could get another word out, Gatsby had excused himself from the table and was making his way to the back door which led out to the pool. Nick followed in pursuit, letting Gatsby lead him around the pool and onto the sand where they took the few extra steps to reach the dock. The two of them had walked along those same sands together many times, either enjoying the peace and quiet of an evening or to get as much quiet as they could away from Gatsby’s parties. Sometimes, Nick would even go out alone, letting his feet wade in the sand under the moon to relax himself. Sometimes a man just needed a break.

Instead of walking along the shoreline, though, Nick caught up to Gatsby’s side and they walked to the end of the dock where Nick had first seen his mysterious neighbor. After a moment, Gatsby was breaking the silence.

“Do you notice something strange?”

Nick looked in the direction Gatsby was then frowned.

“I can’t say that I do.”

“The light… it’s gone…”

Then it hit Nick; the green light at the end of Daisy's dock wasn't glowing like usual. He wondered how long that light had been out- maybe since the incident at the hotel? Or since he was shot? Maybe Daisy was a little more affected than Nick thought, but she sure didn’t show it to him.

“Is it true?” Gatsby broke the silence again, “That she’s fallen out of love with me?”

Nick didn’t have to answer that; he already knew the answer. His voice had lost any hope it held for a future full of himself and Daisy and Nick could see that. Gatsby, after building his dream up for nearly five years, had lost it in an evening. So he didn’t answer, and instead the two of them looked out into the vast and shaded waters that invited them in. The two men, for a moment, stood still and let the cool breeze of the night fill their lungs. Then, without warning, Gatsby was flying off the dock, soaking Nick’s shoes and the ankles of his pants.

“Jay!” He laughed, unsure of how to react exactly. Gatsby laughed too, though, and held out his arms.

“Well, come on, old sport! Forget boating, let’s go for a swim!”

“What’s gotten into you?” Nick asked, taking a step back to check for damage. As he did as such, and before he could realize it, Jay had snuck up on him and had pulled him into the water. Nick yelped in surprise, attempting quickly to hold his breath as he fell in, and the melodious laughter of Jay Gatsby filled his ears as he resurfaced.

“The look on your face was marvelous!” Jay laughed, struggling to keep himself up. Nick couldn’t help himself and he laughed along, trying to catch his breath at the same time. He was trying to comprehend why in the world Jay would want to go swimming at _this_ time of night in the type of clothes they were wearing. He was impulsive, but this was different. And as they swam he tried not to dwell on it, tried to just let loose and relax, but he found himself getting colder eventually and, as for Gatsby, his skin wasn’t the only thing feeling cold, either.

For a second, Nick wondered why they were so vulnerable to silence before he spoke.

“Jay, doesn’t your shoulder hurt?”

Jay stared ahead blankly as if he hadn’t heard the question, then he cracked a small, weary grin that gave Nick the slightest notion that he was okay.

“Of course it does- it burns like hell, actually. But I hadn’t really noticed it before now, do you want to know why?”

“You know I do.”

“Because,” he said, moving closer to Nick and talking as if the answer were a secret only he could know, entrancing him, “the water’s cold, I’m exhausted, and sitting here with my best man has me feeling a certain kind of way.”

Nick chuckled, “Your best man? But you’re not getting married.”

“Ah, as oblivious as ever,” Jay teased, making Nick cock a brow, “my best _friend_ , Nick.”  
There was a lapse in time at the sound of his name, causing Nick to lose his balance in the water. He went under momentarily before being pulled back up by Jay who was considerably closer to him, breathing heaven in his face. It made Nick swallow thickly and his eyes widen. As observant as he was, the only thing he could find himself gazing at was deep in Jay’s eyes which looked back at him so warmly despite the coolness of the water. It made him lose his breath and weakened him just a bit more.

This did not go unnoticed by Gatsby, who had a smirk so clear as the moon on his face.

“You’re as hot as the sun,” he said softly, “perhaps it was good for you to get out in this water.”

Nick couldn’t have responded if he wanted too. His throat had suddenly gone dry and he could only see and hear Gatsby. He was overcome with feelings he had never felt for anyone, not for any man or woman, and it made alarms and bells go off in his head. He thought he had felt this way for Jordan a while ago, tried comparing this feeling to that, and concluded in a short second that it came nowhere close to this.

“Nick, what is your favorite flower?” The confused frown following this question made Gatsby laugh. “Just tell me, why don’t you.”

“Roses.”

Gatsby, pleased with the answer, carefully let Nick go and all but abandoned him as he swam for the dock and pulled himself up (with much struggle). It was at this time that Nick saw the butler, Edgar, walk toward Gatsby with a confused expression, whisper something to him, then turn back toward the mansion.

“Old sport, I’ve got a favor to ask of you,” Gatsby announced, only turning his head enough so Nick could see half of his face, “Would you mind staying here while I prepare a few things?”

“What are you preparing for, might I ask?”

Gatsby’s grin glimmered, “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’ll have Edgar fetch you momentarily.”

Without another word between the two, Gatsby turned back away and adjusted his coat before continuing after Edgar, and all Nick could do was watch as that enchanting man walked away from him.

“Jay, really, this is all too much-”

“Have you been to my parties? It’s nothing, really!”

Nick couldn’t conceal his grin as they walked closer to the mansion where they had left for the beach, Nick soaking wet and Gatsby dry from his neck down. His hair was still wet, of course, but his face, if seen a certain way, was covered in a thin film of nervous sweat. 

“It’s nearly one in the morning, I really ought to be-”

“Oh, don’t say you’ll go until you see this,” Gatsby nearly begged, taking Nick’s hand as a precaution and pulling him into the manor. Nick’s cheeks automatically turned the color of roses, but the blush didn't have too much time to form before Gatsby stopped them both in their tracks and asked Nick to close his eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” he claimed, letting go of his hand. Nick stood alone for a moment, pondering on how odd Gatsby had been acting all day and how odd his own feelings were seeming, when a minute later he was being told to open his eyes. What stood before him was Gatsby in his creme-colored suit, his blonde hair combed perfectly and blue eyes sparkling magnificently, holding a single red rose.

Nick was completely flabbergasted.

“I thought my favorite flowers were daisies,” Jay managed, his cheeks a bit rosy as well as he held out the flower to Nick, “but I suppose now they’re roses.”

Jay definitely didn’t receive the reaction he expected or, more, wanted. 

“But what about Daisy?” Nick asked, finally coming to his senses and taking a step back. “You loved her, and now- you don’t?”

Gatsby contained a haughty laugh, the mention of her name still a fresh cut. “Of course I do, old sport! What’s given you the idea that I don’t?”

Nick’s eyes widened but his brows stayed down, giving Jay a surprised yet confused expression. “You can’t be serious, you’re not _that_ oblivious, are you?”

“Maybe I might be.”

The tone in his voice told Nick that he wasn’t, that he knew exactly what he was doing, but he couldn’t understand at all why. He didn’t know how to feel- mad? Hurt? Concerned? He was still human after all, what was stopping him from feeling all three? With Daisy not wanting to be with him anymore, it was understandable that his emotions would be in the works. He himself had to be all sorts of confused and hurt, but Nick didn’t want to be caught up in that blunder and have his own feelings taken for granted.

He shook his head and instead chose to feel nothing.

“Jay, I really must be heading to bed now. I have work in the morning.”

The look of panic that crossed Gatsby’s face almost made Nick jump. It was nearly identical to that of the face he saw when he attempted to leave before tea, except this time his eyes begged him to stay, and he didn’t think he could deny Gatsby anymore.

Then a whisper from Gatsby, _a damn plead_ of slightly broken pride, “Won’t you stay with me tonight, old sport?”

A clear indication that Gatsby most definitely was not okay. Nick had never dealt with anyone of Gatsby’s stature and wondered if everyone else in West Egg was like this. Secretly desperate and unsure of how to deal with or present their emotions. 

But Nick couldn’t have left even if he wanted too.

“What would it mean to you if I took this rose?”

Gatsby’s eyes shined with a bit of hope. “It would mean more than every other daisy in any field."

Nick waited to see if there would be any change in Gatsby's demeanor, but there was none. So, carefully, he took the delicate rose from the delicate fingers of the ever so slightly trembling man, and he gave him, in return, an agreeing nod.

"Yes, I'll stay tonight."


	3. A Night With James

A weekend at Gatsby’s held a different definition for everyone who came along.

For some, it meant coming, getting drunk for free despite prohibition, then leaving. For others, they could freely be queer without the fear of the cops or disgusted onlookers because hey, it’s a party, what the hell!

For Nick, it meant sorting through feelings he had no idea he even had.

Gatsby, since hearing that Daisy no longer felt for him, was definitely not acting like Gatsby. It was obvious that he, too, was experiencing some mixed emotions he had never felt before, either. Throughout the night, Nick had noticed the man staring ahead of himself with a blank expression, leaving the scene for a few seconds before returning, his intoxicating grin coming back with him. Maybe it wasn’t true, maybe Nick was exaggerating, but it looked to him that Jay was preventing a depression spell by spending time with him. If this was so, he would do what he could to help him.

For a while, because it was late, Gatsby had allowed Nick to retire to a readied guest bedroom which happened to be across the hall from his own room. Nick got himself acquainted with the floral and fading wallpaper, the king-sized bed and long, blonde dresser which adorned an enormous mirror. It was a simple room with extravagant features, a bit from Nick’s norm, but he liked it. And while he thought on Jay and tried to sort through his muddled feelings about the man, there was a gentle knocking on the door which stalled his breath.

“Mr. Carraway, Mr. Gatsby has asked for your company across the hall.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” Nick called out, rubbing his tired eyes. The time was nearing closer to two and he wondered just how long Jay stayed up throughout the night when there _wasn’t_ a party. Did he even sleep? He looked so young and handsome, Nick thought, he’s probably immortal.

He chuckled; the world doesn’t deserve an immortal Jay Gatsby, he’s too good for it.

After collecting himself, Nick took the few steps it did across the hall to knock on Gatsby’s door. It opened slowly, presenting Gatsby with a lack of an overcoat, rolled up sleeves, a loosened tie, and half a bottle of liquor with two crystal glasses on the dresser behind him. He was looking as cool as ever.

“I figured there’s no point in hiding it-” Gatsby started, then shook his head, “We need to talk.”

He stepped aside for Nick to come in, letting the bright light formally meet him. Nick looked around with wonder, seeing just how much more beauteous his room was compared to the others. The whole house was splendid, but Gatsby’s room was of his own personalization. 

“You’ve got a beautiful knife collection,” Nick commented, noticing the few rows of knives in a case hanging on the wall. It was just above the mantle which held small trinkets such as figurines- glass and plastic, snow globes, and medals. Some of them weren’t his own. 

Gatsby smiled. “Sometimes I think your mind wanders father than mine. Are you much interested in knives?”

“Not much,” Nick shrugged, trying to keep from making eye contact with Gatsby. A nervous tension was building between them because of the conversation they needed to have and he was actually _stalling_. It was unlike him to be so apprehensive and unwilling, but nobody had ever made him feel how Gatsby did and he wasn’t sure how to act. “I’m more of a watch guy.”

“If that’s so, feast your eyes,” Gatsby said, approaching Nick’s side and pulling out a small, golden pocket watch attached to a chain in his pocket. Nick observed, light tracing a finger around the edge of the lid to feel the design, and suddenly his breath was catching in his ribs when Gatsby laid a hand on the small of his back.

“It was a gift from a friend at Oxford,” Gatsby explained, his voice light, “a payment for my tutoring him. But if you like it so much…”

“I couldn’t!” Nick gasped, finally looking him in the eyes. Gatsby nodded, though, and took Nick’s hand, using the other to place the small watch in his hand. The chain attached to it dangled between his fingers.

“But you could, old sport, I want you too.”

Nick’s heartbeat quickened. “Jay…”

“James,” Gatsby corrected, smiling at Nick admiringly. Nick’s mind was spinning out of control. Gatsby had made a new life for himself, as far as they both knew ‘James’ was dead, but now he was insisting on Nick calling him that and it made Nick’s heart thump harder. Was it trust? A delusion? Or maybe he was too drunk? Whatever the case, Nick was cautious.

“What do we need to talk about?” He attempted to change the subject, hesitantly closing his hand around the watch. Without much control of his own, Nick allowed Gatsby to lead him to the bed to sit and talk to him gently, as if any other way would ruin the moment.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” Gatsby asked, still not removing his hand from Nick’s back. Nick pursed his lips, trying to piece together what he wanted to say exactly. He knew the situation was delicate and he was walking on eggshells, especially because of Daisy, and he thought that maybe Gatsby was just clinging to him now because of it. It really lowered his mood.

“I have,” he answered truthfully, his eyes falling. Gatsby frowned.

“But?”

He swallowed, “You’re sure this isn’t because of Daisy?”

Before answering, Gatsby descried the slight shaking in Nick’s hands and it made him pity him a little. The question Nick asked, though, had also made him think, did he really feel a way for Nick, or was he just attaching himself to the closest thing to her? He began to doubt his own feelings and it pained his heart. 

Gatsby was always a confident man until now.

“But you’ve felt it _before_ now, haven’t you?” He tried, placing his other hand on Nick’s knee. This made Nick’s cheeks explode with color and he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stand and walk a ways away from the bed. Gatsby could only look at him with confusion and worry.

“I’ve seen you look at Daisy that same way, talk to her that same way- why, all of a sudden, are you looking at _me_ that same way? Because I’m her cousin?”

The kind of quiet Gatsby was earlier had now changed from gentle to throaty. “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?” He asked, his hands clasped together and eyes glancing at the floor. “Nick, I’m not sure how much more obvious I could be about how I feel for you.”

At this point, Nick was starting to feel ridiculous. “You’ve only started tonight after finding out that Daisy’s chosen Tom.”

Finally an answer dawned on Gatsby, one both truthful and revelating, and he stood up quickly and walked to Nick, clasping his hands on his shoulders. “I once loved Daisy, yes,” he admitted, “and I have for years, but perhaps, without either of us realizing it, I had fallen out of love for her and became taken for another. Her leaving me- it’s freed me in a sense, does this make sense?”

It did and it calmed Nick down significantly, even making him melt some in Gatsby’s hold.

“So what does this mean for us?” Nick asked, looking Gatsby in the eyes again to see a glowing tenderness that matched the room. Gatsby grinned and let go of his shoulders, walking around him to pour liquor into the awaiting glasses.

“A toast,” he hummed, holding up his glass and holding the other to Nick, “to new beginnings.”

At first, when Nick awoke in the morning, he had no idea where he was. Every light in the room was still on from the night before with sunlight piling on that from the drawn curtains, disgusting him when he opened his eyes. Too much light along with a hangover was enough to make anyone sick, especially in their best friend’s bedroom.

“Oh, god…” Nick muttered, rubbing his face and trying to use his eyes as least as possible as he went to turn off the lights. Once they were off, he heard a soft, muffled chortle come from the bed where Gatsby lay with his eyes shut and his mouth curled in a sleepy smile.

“I was waiting for you to do that.”

Nick frowned as he stumbled back toward the bed, dropping back down onto it and attempting to make himself comfortable despite his pounding headache. Subconsciously, he had moved even closer to Gatsby than before.

“If you’ve been awake, couldn’t _you_ have just turned off the lights?” Nick groaned, putting his arm over his eyes. Gatsby shrugged, burying his face in his pillow and hugging it tighter. Nick didn’t notice, then, but in the future he would come to see just how adorable and serene Gatsby was when he was asleep or sleepy. 

“I could have, but I wasn’t sure if you were a light sleeper- I just didn’t want to disturb your sleep is all.”

A lazy smile found its way on Nick’s lips and he shook his head, thinking of how kind he was but not thinking to say it out loud. 

They were quiet for a little bit, trying to get used to waking up with the help of the ungodly afternoon light shining in, and as Nick’s mind began to wake up, the situation he was in was becoming clearer and clearer.

He was in Gatsby’s room, he wasn’t wearing all the clothes he had the night before, and he was a little more hungover than he wished he was.

What the hell happened last night?

He wanted to ask, but his nerves struck him too fast. Maybe since he didn’t remember he wasn’t meant to know, like the universe decided to give him a break from himself and was saving him the embarrassment of things he would never have done if he had control of himself.

Eventually, Gatsby found himself sitting up, leading Nick to do the same, and stretching to start the day at two in the afternoon.

He wasn’t wearing all of his clothes, either.

“Would you like me to have someone make us breakfast?” Gatsby yawned. He winced, to, grabbing his head as if it’d stop the pounding. “And some coffee…”

“Please,” Nick mumbled, licking his dry lips, “and may I use your phone? I don’t think I can go into work today…”

“Of course, I’ll even do it for you,” Gatsby offered, almost immediately getting on his feet, “just stay here while everything gets ready, and-”

“Jay, really, I can do it myself,” Nick stopped him, chuckling a little, “you don’t even know the number to my workplace.”

Gatsby looked at him a moment, taking in the image of a tired, hungover, but morning (afternoon) light-stricken Nick, and admiring him in secret before responding. “It’s quite alright, old sport, just let me take care of it, I don’t mind at all. And… do you remember what I said last night? What you could call me?”

Nick thought about it, trying to rack his mind for any memory of last night at all. He remembered picking him up from the hospital, having tea, dinner, going swimming in their clothes, and…

Everything was coming back at him all at once now.

How close they had gotten, the subtle touches Gatsby had laid on him, giving him not much reason to react uncomfortably but nothing to _not_ react to, and how sincerely he had given Nick permission to call him ‘James’ rather than ‘Jay’. All of a sudden he was feeling his cheeks start to burn and he noticed a smirk starting on Gatsby's lips because of it.

"James…"

“I’ll tell them you’re sick and will be back in a couple of days,” Gatsby said, a sing-song tone to his voice as he sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nick could only watch in disbelief as he walked away, as cocky as he could be. Over his time of knowing Gatsby he’s seen everyone fall into the sort of spell the man put over everyone and he’s never thought he’d fall for it, but god dammit he has and he’s not sure he wants out of it.

While waiting for Gatsby, a butler had knocked and entered the room to bring Nick a cup of coffee and to tell him that Gatsby was waiting for him in the kitchen. He promised he’d come down after having some more time to wake up, and once he was alone again he was trying to remember lost memories of the night before.

_“A toast to new beginnings,” Jay hummed, side-glancing at Nick as he took his drink. Purposefully, Nick avoided eye-contact, feeling his heart becoming unsteady under his ‘friend’s’ gaze. He faced a different direction for quite some time, trying to use the alcohol as a relaxer, but his heartbeat sped through the roof when a gentle finger touched his chin and turned his head. “To you and I.”_

_When their eyes met, Nick swore he could see not only vast, lonely oceans in Gatsby’s eyes but universes filled with stars that lit up just for him. He saw past the loneliness and heartbreak and into the soft, benevolent heart of the man who presented himself as intelligent, arrogant, and just. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t any of those things, but sometimes it seemed that Nick was the only one who could see the rest and was the only one that Gatsby would allow to see it._

_“Have you any shame, James?”_

_The taste of his real name left Nick an odd taste on his tongue, but it was a taste he wouldn’t let go to waste considering he was the only person Gatsby allowed to call him that. A dead name until now, Nick savored it._

_“For what?” Gatsby asked, sliding his fingers lightly along Nick’s jaw until he was gently cupping his cheek in his hand. “For spending time with my… good friend? For showing him just how much I care about him?”_

_“Don’t you know how much trouble this could get us into?”_

_“They won’t say anything,” Gatsby reassured, referencing his butlers and maids, “nobody has to know.”_

_As Gatsby spoke, he had moved them both to sit on the bed once again, placing their glasses on the bedside table so he could take Nick’s other hand in his free one. All the while, eye-contact was not broken and Gatsby could tell Nick was falling deeper and deeper into his hold._

_“Oh, Nick,” he continued, “what’s truly stopping you from enjoying the night?”_

_Nick’s mind, which was going a million miles in under a minute, had suddenly stopped at this question with the realization that there was absolutely nothing stopping him. He was standing in his own way, and for what? Because Gatsby’s a guy? Because on the snap a finger, Gatsby loved him instead of Daisy? He had noticed it before but he was noticing it again: Gatsby made the whole world make no sense at all. Tonight, though, he was fine with it not making sense for him. For once, he was alright with the abstract that was Gatsby._

_“Nothing…”_

_“So nothing would stop me… if I did this..?” Gatsby whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he moved his face closer to Nick’s until, finally, their lips were together. It was at that moment that Nick had lost his rigidness and was putty in Gatsby’s hands._

_This lasted a few seconds before Gatsby was pulling away, and as soon as he did Nick was standing and pouring himself another glass. Gatsby let him, seeing as how it was calming his nerves, and after drinking his second, third, and fourth drinks, Gatsby had taken the glass from his hand again and sat it down so he could pull him back onto the bed with him, having Nick fall back so he could hover above him._

_“James…” Nick breathed, looking up at Gatsby, his eyes half-lidded. Gatsby grinned and it was then that he felt his own heart start to beat harder and his nerve start to break. He’s always been imperturbable, a greek statue of a man without any faults, and he thought he had control of his emotions and the situation, but seeing that Nick was drunk and besides himself, he knew he had to take a step back from everything and regain himself. He sighed and shut his eyes for a second before pulling himself off of Nick, receiving a disappointed look from him. “James?”_

_“Old sport, it really is getting to be too late,” Gatsby muttered, walking around to the other side of the bed to sit with his back to Nick, “we ought to sleep, you won’t be too well in the morning.”_

_“Have I done something-?”_

_“Not you, Nick,” Gatsby assured, kicking off his shoes before turning around to look at a concerned Nick, “you’ve done everything right, don’t you see? It’s… me who’s done something.” He shook his head, “It’s not important now. I think now we should get some sleep.”_

Nick rubbed his eyes stressfully and sighed. He had made a complete fool of himself and made Gatsby feel even worse. Sluggishly, he made himself stand again and made sure to pick up his empty mug as he made his way to the kitchen where Gatsby was sitting at the table, an empty plate in front of him and a plate of pancakes on his right. When he noticed Nick’s entrance, he stood up and smiled at him.

“Feeling better, old sport?” He asked, pulling out Nick’s chair then taking his mug. Nick sat, unresponsive until Gatsby sat down, asking another question. “What’s the matter?”

“What had happened last night… I’m sorry.”

Gatsby frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nick shrugged and shook his head, putting his head in his hands and elbows on the table. He was already becoming irritated with himself. “My nerves had gotten the best of me- unless I imagined everything last night, you do feel for me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Gatsby assured, his eyes furrowed a bit more, “I do. Do you doubt that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Nick admitted, putting his arms down and looking at Gatsby helplessly, “last night has left me confused and unsure.”

“How can I make you sure?” Gatsby asked, carefully taking one of Nick’s hands. Nick drew in a deep, steadying breath. It seemed to Gatsby that he may be more ill rather than hungover; he definitely was a little shaken up.

“You won’t leave again, will you?”

This made Gatsby move his chair closer and he let go of Nick’s hand to put his arm around his shoulder, and gently he said, “Never again.”


	4. Wolf in Man's Clothing

In the following week, Gatsby had made it possible for Nick to take a break from his regularly scheduled life to become close to him.

The two spent mornings together, eating breakfast and drinking coffee before going on walks on the empty beach, taking in the ocean-soaked air and savoring the feeling of the warm sun. In the afternoons, they would sit inside for tea and Gatsby would tell Nick stories of his childhood or vice-versa, and in the evenings the two would enjoy a nice meal at home or at a restaurant where Gatsby would sit close and fluster the hell out of him. Nothing quite sexual, but nothing quite innocent, either.

He was taken for him from the start, but Nick could still never get enough.

When he had to go back to work the next week, he was only reminded of how much of a drag his life had been without the glamorous Gatsby. But, he thought, at least he could go home and call him.

Gatsby had offered for him to move into the mansion, and as much as Nick wanted to he knew it wasn’t the best idea. They were only good friends before they let their romance blossom, and now that it was just newly forming he didn’t want to make the flower bloom before it was ready. They needed more time, and Gatsby respected that.

That didn’t stop Nick from wanting to spend most of his time with him, though, or wanting to stay the night. He just knew that couldn’t happen _every_ night.

Especially a certain night about a week or so later.

Nick had come to Gatsby’s on a whim after work one day, planning on surprising him with a small sack of his favorite candy. A simple gift- a childish gift- but something he knew he would like. A party was planned for later that evening, the first party since his arrival back from the hospital, and he knew Gatsby was excited. Though the parties were originally planned for Daisy to come over, they were now thrown for the sole purpose of Nick and Gatsby having the chance to be public with their affection and to have no one see anything of it. Parties, after all, were meant for people to get drunk and be queer without worrying if they were going to be beat up or taken to jail.

Gatsby was pleasantly surprised, as expected, and paid Nick back with the utmost warmth and endearment. 

“You know you don’t have to buy a thing for me,” Gatsby said, holding Nick close, “I should be the one showering you with anything you’ve ever wanted.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair-” Nick tried, being cut off by the phone in the next room ringing. It stopped almost immediately with a quiet voice from a butler following, then a second later that butler was coming in asking for Gatsby. That had been happening since their relationship began to form, but every time Gatsby was needed, he would tell them ‘not now’ or ‘now is not the time’. Finally, fed up, Gatsby excused himself from Nick and decided to pick up the phone.

Nick was alone for a couple of minutes before Gatsby came back, his demeanor completely changed from warm to serious.

“We need to head to Brooklyn,” Gatsby said, fixing the sleeves to the jacket of his suit and sighing, “I’ve been ignoring important business with Wolfsheim- you remember him, don’t you?- and things seem to be escalating. You _will_ join me, won’t you?”

Nick was hesitant, remembering the kind of guy Wolfsheim was. A sleazy gangster who only had it in for himself. He had tried to contact Wolfsheim when Gatsby was in the hospital, but all he had gotten in response was that ‘he was out of the office on important business, try again in a few days’ in which he did and got the same response. In Nick’s experience, Wolfsheim wasn’t that great of a guy, but he said yes anyways because it seemed like Gatsby wanted him there and he couldn’t say no to him.

“Of course, just let me get my shoes.”

“Mr. Gatsby.”

“Meyer Wolfsheim, my old friend!” Gatsby greeted as he approached his partner. Nick followed about a foot behind. “Before we start, I’d like to apologize for my absence-”

“I was told you were in the hospital.”

Nick snickered. Maybe he saw it in the newspapers, but he definitely wasn’t _told_.

“Ah-” Gatsby started, side-glancing Nick then turning back again, “A small incident with a neighbor’s friend, but I’m back in business, I can assure you. Now, what’s the hubbub?”

The last time the three of them were together, Wolfsheim seemed to be glad to be in their company and looked to be having a good time. Now was completely different as the three of them walked down the street and turned into an alleyway. It made Nick both suspicious and slightly uneasy.

“Some serious trouble with… a guy,” he said slowly, looking back at Nick then quickly looking away as if he hadn’t, “you know, the guy.”

Nick knew he wasn’t meant to be there the moment Gatsby invited him, so as the two spoke in their code he got the feeling more and more that he ought to leave. It wasn’t his business to hear, anyhow, so before the three of them entered through the side door of a building, Nick pulled Gatsby aside.

“I think I’m going to call a cab.”

This seemed to shock Gatsby and he shook his head. “But Nick, you’re safe.”

“James, I’m not much comfortable-”

“Trust me,” Gatsby said, pulling Nick’s gaze away from the street and to his eyes, “I wouldn’t let a soul touch you. If you weren’t meant to hear this I wouldn’t have asked you to come along.”

Though he had a point, there was still something in Nick that told him he didn’t belong. But, interestingly enough, he decided to stay, and so Gatsby led him back toward the door and the three of them entered a small, dimly lit room which held smoking men dressed in black sitting at a bar and men with martini glasses sitting with younger women in their laps. It gave Nick the creeps, but with Gatsby’s hand gently on his lower back the three of them found a table by a wall to sit at.

“You really want _him_ hearing all of this?” Wolfsheim muttered in Gatsby’s ear, unaware of how loud he actually was. Gatsby nodded and secretly reached for Nick’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Of course; he doesn’t have loose lips if that’s what you’re implying.”

“So he _does_ want to be in the business?”

Gatsby looked at Nick as if to ask him, but he turned back and shook his head. “No, but I trust him.”

He squeezed Nick’s hand once more when Wolfsheim gave them both a suspicious look, then the real conversation took place.

“Mr. Palansky is the one with loose lips,” Wolfsheim explained, waving at a waitress who simply gave him a nod then walked off, “He’s been talkin’ to the Gambinos about the drug stores and I’m thinkin’ we, uh… take ‘em for a ride and bump ‘em off.”

Next to Gatsby, he could feel Nick’s hand turning cool and Nick could feel himself turning a bit pale. He knew Gatsby was into shady business, he knew what he was getting himself into, but he wasn’t quite expecting to hear anything like that. 

“You’ll need to excuse me,” Nick tried to move out of the booth, but suddenly there was a gun on the table.

“Sit down, Mr. Carraway,” Wolfsheim said, smiling up at the waitress who walked toward them with three glasses half-full of a dark liquor. Once she was gone again, Gatsby was standing and placing a hand on Nick’s shoulder then grabbing Wolfsheim's shirt collar with his other hand. 

“Don’t you _ever_ threaten him again, do you hear me?” He asked quietly but coldly, his grip on the old man’s shirt so tight his knuckles had turned white. This didn’t seem to affect the old thug who looked past Gatsby at nothing and sipped on his drink.

“Mr. Gatsby, if you’d prefer _us_ to continue this conversation, I suggest you get Mr. Carraway to his home _alone_.”

Gatsby was still for another moment before nodding once and gently pushing Nick out of the booth where he led him back out of the building and quickly toward the way they had came from to get in Gatsby’s car. They were quiet for a time, Gatsby speeding along the road to get Nick home so he could get back to Wolfsheim as quickly as possible so he wasn’t waiting too long, but he could feel the nervousness and distress coming from Nick and he felt the need to say something.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

“He pulled a gun on me, Jay! And he suggested you two _kill_ someone!”

“We never said it was going to happen,” Gatsby reminded him, tapping his thumb on the wheel impatiently. He knew what was going to be discussed when he talked to Wolfsheim on the phone, but he didn’t think Nick would react like this when he invited him to the conversation. But, then again, he also didn’t figure that Nick would be threatened. Clearly he didn’t think of every outcome to this tricky situation. He figured that if Nick trusted him then it would all be fine. Clearly, this was not the case. “It was merely suggested, old sport, and you won’t be in any sort of trouble-”

“I can handle you making alcohol illegally, but killing a man?” Nick asked, looking at Gatsby unbelievingly, “James, I’m not sure I could handle that.”

“Don’t say that,” Gatsby nearly plead as he drove into their neighborhood, his driving slowing down as he pulled up to Nick’s place. When he parked, he was unbuckling and turning to Nick, taking his hand and holding it to himself, “If you’re afraid _I_ will be hurt or arrested-”

“You shouldn’t be doing any of this at all,” Nick said as if anything he could say would change anything. He knew it wouldn’t, but he hoped that any of it would make something in Gatsby realize that he can’t be so big and bad forever. Especially if he wanted to be in a relationship with Nick.

Gatsby gave him a desperate look before looking down to avoid his gaze and gently kissing his hand.

“I don’t want you leaving your house until I call you up, do you understand me?”

“James-”

“And I _will_ be calling you soon. And our party tonight will be grand.”

Nick was alone in his home for three hours until, on six o’clock on the dot, his phone began to ring.

He expected it to be Gatsby with an apology for what had happened earlier and a better explanation of the situation, but instead he was getting an earful of the anxiety-inducing words from Mr. Wolfsheim himself.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Carraway,” Wolfsheim greeted, making Nick freeze, “we need to talk.”

“Oh no, no, no-”

“Oh yes,” the quiet yet menacing voice corrected, “I have instructions for you I believe you should follow.” He paused a few seconds before continuing, “I believe you should stay away from the Gatsby residence for… a while. You understand, don’t you?”

Nick wasn’t sure how to react. He knew it was a threat, that if he went to see Gatsby then something would either happen to him or Gatsby, but he wondered if Gatsby knew about it. Then again, though, if he did then he wouldn’t be getting this call.

“You’re saying I can’t see Ja-y?”

“Precisely. I can’t risk anything after what you’ve seen and heard earlier- it’s for your protection.”

“And Jay knows about this?”

Silence, then, “I’d advise against telling him about this. And Mr. Carraway… don’t answer your phone again.”

Suddenly, Wolfsheim was off the line and it was dead. Nick stood, obviously shaken and concerned, and hurriedly he put the phone back on the receiver. Desperately he wanted to call Gatsby, to tell him what had just happened, but then it hit him that _Gatsby_ was supposed to call him and he hasn’t yet. That fact only made him all the more concerned so he took a slow, deep breath and took a seat on the sofa to collect himself.

He was fine. Gatsby was fine. Gatsby wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

He snickered. ‘I’m not a child’, he thought, ‘I don’t need James to protect me’. 

Abruptly, the phone was ringing again and Nick had flinched so hard he jumped. He would have laughed at himself were it not for the severity of his situation. Instinctively he reached for the phone, but then Meyer’s words echoed in his head and he hesitated, letting the phone ring until it was done. Expectedly, though, the phone rang again and Nick, dumbly, answered it.

“Hello?” He asked with urgency. 

“Nick? What’s the matter, what’s wrong?” Gatsby’s voice asked on the other end of the line. A wave of relief washed over Nick until that wave froze over him, making him still.

“James, I won’t be able to attend your party tonight.”

He heard a small sound over the phone, one that worried him but he didn’t question it. “And why can’t you attend my party tonight? Has… someone called?”

“Why would you ask that?” Nick asked, almost panicked. 

“Nothing, nothing- nevermind. Nick, I’m coming over, just stay put, alright?”

“James-”

Without another word, the line was dead and Nick was alone again. Frustrated, he dropped the phone back on the receiver carelessly and began pacing the room nervously. He knew he couldn’t tell Gatsby that he had talked to Wolfsheim, but remembering his slight anger issue and the fact that he could probably get Wolfsheim ‘bumped off’ he could probably get the gangster off his back. But, then again, he also didn’t want anyone getting killed, especially himself. It was quite the dilemma and he desperately wanted to talk to Gatsby about it, but his reaction to anything was unpredictable.

When Gatsby arrived he let himself in, finding Nick fixing picture frames in the hallway. It was a nervous tic of his, to adjust, fix, or clean things that might not have needed it or didn’t matter. He approached him slowly, carefully taking one wrist to make him pause then pulling him into a tight, comforting hug that, thankfully to Nick, lasted more than usual.

“Talk to me, Nick,” he said softly, his warm breath in Nick’s hair, “something _must_ be wrong- you’re not coming to the party tonight?”

Nick was quiet a moment, really just wanting to be held for a moment longer before pulling away and wandering back down the hall into the living room.

“I received an emergency call,” he explained, hoping Gatsby wouldn't see right through his lie. Guilt began to pile in the pit of his stomach, giving him a painfully icy feeling. “I’ll have to leave soon, I am so sorry…”

“I understand," Gatsby said, though there was some disappointment in his voice, "would you like me to come along-?"

"No," Nick answered quickly, turning to him with a startled look. He quickly composed himself again, though."No, this should only be as long as a day or two and it's not _much_ of a problem-"

"Well, what is it?"

Nick thought for a second then said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Daisy and Tom have been bickering and she's asked me to come over for a night. I couldn't bring myself to say no."

Gatsby's eyes couldn't have gotten any darker than when Nick saw them right then, not even when he had yelled at Tom in the hotel room.

"So Daisy _did_ call earlier when you couldn't answer my call?" He asked to confirm his silent suspicion. Nick didn't nod, but he swallowed and continued to lie.

"I told her I would be there soon," he repeated, "I really must go now."

"Let me come," Gatsby suggested, taking Nick's coat before he could and handing it to him, "for support of course."

A pang of jealousy hit Nick; first a lie which Gatsby _believed_ , and now a request to see a past lover which he wasn't even going to see. And of course Gatsby believed him, he's never had a reason not too until now, but _he_ didn't know that. Nick drew in a deep breath to calm his guilt and he shook his head.

"Not this time, but maybe next."

"Doll, I don't really understand why you're acting so differently towards _me_ ," Gatsby explained as he followed Nick to his car. This caused Nick to blush brightly because he had never been called that before and Gatsby had never given him any sort of nickname besides 'old sport'. Nonetheless, he disregarded it for the time being and hopped into his vehicle.

"I'll call you once I get there," He promised, sparing the man a last glance before leaving him in the driveway, standing alone with a lost feeling of his own.


	5. Heavy Air

Nick had only been in New York a minute before he was pulling over to puke in a trash can on the sidewalk.

The pain in his stomach was a result from his lying and being threatened paired with the aching in his heart due to knowing he had hurt Gatsby by leaving. 

He didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going to go but he knew he needed to get out of that house and away from Gatsby, at least for the night. When he felt well enough to drive he found himself, conveniently, near a restaurant which, being surrounded by other people, he figured would calm his nerves. Pulling over, the speeding of his heart began to slow, but upon entering the establishment his eyes lit up at the sight of a telephone hanging on a wall by the entrance to the kitchen.

“Daisy?”

“...Nicky..?”

He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He knew he had to play his cards right in this conversation. It was certain he didn’t exactly want to talk to her after everything that had happened, but he needed her help.

“Listen, Daisy, I have a favor to ask and it’s real important to me, alright?”

“What is it..?” Her voice was quiet like a gentle wind in the spring. That’s another thing her voice reminded him of.

“Jay is throwing a party tonight and I can’t- won’t- be there. Can you have Jordan check on him during?”

Daisy was quiet for a bit more than a moment before responding, still timid but also skeptical.

“Why won’t you be there? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Nick attempted to assure, hoping nothing in his voice gave him away, “just attending to some business. But I need Jordan to check on Jay, is that alright?” He prayed to himself as she pondered on it, then a small sigh.

“She will, I promise.”

Going around town, Nick’s car had almost been towed a couple of times and he had felt like he was being followed more than a few, but he had actually managed to convince himself he was having a pleasant time until the sun fell down. Around that time was when Gatsby’s never-ending party would be starting without him and it only made him miss him more. His thoughts were consumed with the thought of Gatsby while he was out, wondering if he were in any danger. Wolfsheim was his business partner, what did he have to hurt him for?

Finally, after deciding he didn’t want to waste anymore gas or money for gas, Nick concluded that it was probably safe for him to go home. Since Gatsby figured he’d be with Daisy for probably a day or so he figured he wouldn’t have to pick up the phone like Wolfsheim advised. He took his time getting there, though, just in case, and when he arrived he found that Jordan was standing on his porch. At this, his mouth dried and his heart dropped. 

Something was wrong.

“What brings you here?” Nick asked, trying to seem chipper and forcing a pep to his step. Jordan cocked a brow, but it was obvious she wasn’t in the best of moods either. Her pale complexion seemed to be a bit more white and when she spoke after following Nick inside, her voice was quiet instead of bold as usual.

“Daisy checked on Gatsby like you asked.”

“I asked for _you_ to check on him.”

“Well, he was checked on.”

Nick sighed of relief. “So he’s alright?”

“Not exactly.”

He tensed, ice forming in his stomach. He hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door and turned, looking at Jordan was slight panic in his eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”

“She couldn’t find him,” she paused, then carefully, “but she saw blood on his desk... and there was a note addressed to you sitting right by it.”

She held out the folded paper, yellowed with age, and without hesitation Nick quickly took it from her and began to read, widening his eyes as if it would help him read more, faster.

**Mr. Carraway-**

**It appears we have ourselves in a bit of a predicament. The party is going on as planned, a lot of people have missed that. Even you, I’m willing to bet. I know Gatsby has. Speaking of Gatsby, I’m sure you’re wondering where he is. I knew you would find this on his desk, ignore my warning just to see him. It’s hard to trust people in this business. He’s getting what he deserves for trying to bring someone as unsure as you into this. He ought to know better, oughtn’t he?**

**There’s nothing for you to worry about. He’ll be returned soon.**

**Don’t think about calling the police; he wouldn’t.**

**\- Wolfsheim**

Nick wanted to hurl, but he managed to keep his dinner down this time. His hands were shaking as he held the note and he walked over to the sofa where he sat, leaving room for Jordan to sit by him and read the note over his shoulder. She seemed unphased, but she was good at keeping herself cool. Nick was not.

“This is my fault,” he muttered miserably, tossing the note onto the coffee table and putting his face in his hands. Knowing he didn’t mind her nosiness, she finished reading the letter as well, finishing it with a frown.

“He tried to bring you into it? What does that mean?”

Nick was hesitant. “Jay invited me to a meeting between he and Wolfsheim. I tried to leave in the middle of the conversation and Wolfsheim got… rather defensive. I think that’s what started this.”

“Way to go, smarty.”

“Where is Daisy right now? Is she safe?” Nick asked, bracing himself for the answer. Jordan nodded, looking away.

“She’s with Tom- she asked me to bring it to you. She can’t bare to look at you and I don’t blame her after what she did. Or rather, what she didn’t do.”

A part of him was glad; he wasn’t sure if he could even look at Daisy right then. His emotional turmoil would have been too much to deal with were she there, with or without Jordan. Still, he appreciated her compliance. In his mind, he made it like she did it for forgiveness. She was far from forgiven, but not as far as before.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Nick asked, rubbing his eyes and feeling his body become heavy with dread. Jordan shrugged and sighed, falling back against the sofa in tune with Nick, a look of indifference on her face.

“I guess we just wait.”

A week. 

James was back after a _week_.

After receiving the letter from Wolfsheim left for him on Gatsby’s desk, Nick couldn’t find one night of peaceful rest. Or, at least, a night where he wasn’t up until ungodly hours wondering if Gatsby was okay or, at the very least, alive.

He stayed up, wondering if Gatsby or _somebody_ would call him, tell him it was all a joke and that he was fine, that he should come over and spend time with him, or just _something_. But _nothing_ came until exactly a week later, and it was nothing good.

Nick had managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time (obviously because of his lack of sleep), but he was waken up around three in the morning to three, loud pounds on his front door. He was instantly on his feet and scrambling into the living room, his heart rate going a million miles an hour and his breath already out before he opened the door.

What he saw, doubled over and inaudibly groaning on his front porch, was Gatsby. Without a question and without a word, Nick was helping him stand and pulling him in, immediately taking him to lie on the couch. When he attempted to leave the room, just for a moment to gather first-aid supplies or a pillow, Gatsby grasped for his hand, holding it as tight as his weak hand could.

“Don’t…” he mumbled, then coughed, “leave…”

Nick had frozen, losing his ability to breathe for just a second as these words flashed him back to him leaving Gatsby alone in his driveway. That was the last time the two had actually been together and it wasn’t much of a pleasant time. Not for the first time that week or even that night, Nick blamed himself for what had happened to Gatsby and he almost shed a tear. Almost.

“I won’t leave you, James.” 

Nick spoke softly to him until he fell asleep. He wasn’t awake for long after arriving, thankfully, giving Nick a few more hours of sleep before the sun came back up and brought on the horrors of a new day. Of course they wouldn’t be the same nightmares; Gatsby was back home with him, but he wasn’t the same and that point in time, Nick wasn’t sure he ever would be again.

Before the blonde angel woke up, Nick made sure to call the mansion and make them aware that he was back. _Just before_ Gatsby woke up, Nick received a call back from a butler stating that “Wolfsheim’s… ahem… _employees_ … will no longer be available,” and he was lucky to have the phone back on the receiver before his eyes met the wondrous beauties that belonged to his boyfriend.

“James…” He said softly, dropping to his knees by the couch to be eye-level with him and to observe his. They were blank, completely empty of his wonder, curiosity, and amusement. He wasn’t besides himself like he usually was because he was no longer present. Nick felt his chest constrict.

Silence.

Of course.

It’s only been, what, a few _hours_ since being back from the hands of Wolfsheim’s now dead goons? And now he’s just sitting on Nick’s couch staring blankly in his eyes, covered in bruises and dried blood because he refused to let Nick help him clean up or to even go to his own home to do so. They sat quietly together, adjusting to the situation, before Nick decided to stand- his knees were beginning to ache- and sit on the edge of the couch just after Gatsby’s feet.

“Are you hungry?”

Nothing.

“Could I… run you a bath? Or a shower?”

Empty air.

Nick sighed. He wasn’t used to any situation like this, he never had a reason to be. He’d lived a plain, mostly healthy and okay life until moving to the egg and, ultimately, meeting Gatsby. And even then he never figured anything like _this_ would happen. He knew there was murder, yes, and prohibition obviously didn’t stop him, but _this_ was somehow different. Nick had absolutely no idea what to do and he figured no one else did, either.

Carefully, he stood again and gave Gatsby a once over before leaving for the kitchen, coming back with a warmly damp towel. The look on Jay’s face made him pause, seeing him completely drain of color, and he wondered for a moment why he’d do that before continuing and, gently, padding the side of his head. 

“There’s so much blood I can barely see your skin…” 

When the towel touched his cheek he flinched, making Nick’s stomach turn a bit. He wondered how awfully Gatsby had been hurt and how, and especially _why_. It couldn’t have just been because the talk of a hit gave him a queasy stomach. How could Wolfsheim hurt him so badly as to make him so afraid to talk? So afraid to even be touched? By _him_ of all people? 

It hurt more than he could express.

“We should take a walk along the Sound,” he suggested, his voice soft and soothing. All the while, he continued padding off the dried blood around Gatsby’s ears and forehead. His eyes were much too bruised and sensitive to be touched. His lips were busted, as well, and teeth and gums were hit too much for him to clean his lips without the slightest pressure being painful. Nick was sure, too, that his nose was too sore as well. “Enjoy the morning and gentle waves… the breeze… you need some sun, and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

Gatsby searched his eyes for a lie, a deception, a reason to deny his offer for no other reason than because he was terrified of anything that wasn’t _him_ , but the sincerity and worry in his eyes calmed him down enough to give him a small nod. Nick smiled, cocking his head a little and resting his other hand gently on Gatsby’s cheek, tempted to kiss him but not daring to before standing slowly and removing the small towel.

“Let me get dressed and we can go, and afterwards I’ll make us coffee.”

Their early-morning outing started out as a walk on the shoreline but ended up with the two of them sitting silently at the end of Gatsby’s dock, their legs dangling off the edge and Gatsby’s head resting on Nick’s shoulder. The morning sun casting shadows on every surface, the ocean having the most poignant smell, and the cool, morning breeze helping Gatsby truly relax for the first time in a week helped Nick finally relax, too.

He almost didn’t want to speak, afraid of ruining Gatsby’s serenity and peace, but he knew that he’d get no response either way, and the relaxation Gatsby seemed to have was false; he’d been tensed all night. He was just good at presenting any facade he wanted and making people believe it. Nick, though, could see right through him and it made him finally break.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he admitted, sighing lightly behind his words as to keep back as much emotion as he could, “I shouldn’t have left you alone… James, are you aware of how much I care about you? How- how _maddening_ it is that I couldn’t save you, that I had to wait, not knowing if you were okay, how-”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

His voice was so broken it was nearly inaudible. Nick’s heart was beating rapidly in the midst of his panicked speech, so much so that he hadn’t even realized that tears were starting to well in his eyes. Gatsby was the only one that really took notice of Nick’s physical state: pale, anxious, and exhausted. Of course that was obvious to everyone, but only Gatsby could see the true extent of it. Whether he wanted to pull himself out of his personal hell hole or not, Nick obviously needed him too.

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but no noise came out. He wasn’t raised with such toxic masculinity, but it was societal rules that men didn’t cry, and Nick followed those rules. Thus, while Gatsby was gone and even while he was on death’s bed, Nick hadn’t cried. Almost losing him again, though, and seeing him so battered and traumatized was his last straw.

“You’re hard to care for, you know.”

This almost made Gatsby smile. Almost.

“How?”

“You’re here one second and then you’re gone the next,” Nick managed, his throat closing up with a lump as he spoke. He took a second to take a deep breath, cough what he could, and start again. “You left Daisy all those years ago after giving her the chance to love you… how many more times will you leave _me?_ She couldn’t handle it… I’m certain I couldn’t, either…”

Hearing those words made Gatsby experience the worst kind of pain he could ever have felt. Nothing Wolfsheim could have done and not even Daisy leaving him could have hurt him worse than the thought of losing Nick. In all of his years of living, Gatsby had never figured that anyone cared about him enough to the point of mourning him like Nick did. He never thought anyone would truly care about him. In his mind, he didn’t believe he deserved Nick, but he knew that he couldn’t handle losing him, either.

With what little strength he had, Gatsby slowly sat up right and cupped Nick’s face in both of his hands, turning his head to face him so he could look into his soulful greys and silently reassure him that he still had a will to live just for him. Against the feeling of the warm sun and the sound of the beating currents on the dock, Gatsby kissed Nick so gently it was as if a feather was touching Nick’s lips. Their eyes closed during, causing a rolling tear on Nick’s eye to graze Gatsby’s lips and make a trembling breath leave him and use a hand to pull him closer. Nick whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as he forced the kiss deeper, grabbing Gatsby’s jacket just to make sure he couldn’t go, to make sure that the moment between them was real and that nothing could ruin it.

And no matter how he said his name, he was in love with Jay Gatsby.


	6. Anxious Admissions

It’s been a week since Nick had talked to Gatsby, and they were both absolutely miserable.

After that morning on the dock, the two of them had gone into Gatsby’s tragically empty home and had gotten themselves cleaned and fed, all the while being sure that, yes, they were still there and that, no, no one had taken the other without their knowledge. For the first time in a week, they had slept so soundfully in the other’s arms that neither had awakened until nightfall, and still they spent the night together, enjoying the warmth and love of the embrace.

And during this reunion, Gatsby was unaware that in the week to come, Nick would be comparable to a ghost to him.

He had rung up Jordan, his workplace, and hell, even _Daisy_ to get a hold of Nick after what felt like a billion ignored or missed calls, but to no avail he came up with nothing. And though Nick’s car sat by his house, he not once answered the door when it was knocked upon, whether it was Gatsby or not.

Everyone thought, honestly, that he was dead.

After that week, Gatsby had begun to lose his mind.

Recklessness in his plane, drinking himself into a mind-exploding hangover, and hiding himself away in his room are just a few examples of how Gatsby was treating himself without Nick because without him, he had no self control.

He was a strange mix of someone angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic. Toward himself, mostly, but he, too, had been ignoring everyone out of grief and misery. It made him the talk of the town:

**_JAY GATSBY, FRIEND OR FOE? MILLIONAIRE FORCING PEOPLE FROM HOME BY FORCE!_ **

**_NEW YORK MILLIONAIRE DISAPPEARS FROM PUBLIC ONCE AGAIN?_ **

Of course not all tabloids and headlines were true, but not all were false, either. Though he ignored most approaches made toward him, Gatsby was never intentionally rude toward anyone. He had a reputation; he was nice and appropriate when need be. But his mansion was empty that week and no one could seem to get through to him, not even business associates. One of the most common phrases he would hear came from his butlers who would say “my sincerest apologies, but Mr. Gatsby is not available right now…” while he lied in bed, staring at the ceiling and suffering from lack of emotion.

Nick, though, was not as hard-headed as Gatsby. Or, at least, not as much so as he thought he was. He had to leave his home eventually for food and for work, that’s just how people in his social class got by, but he cared less and less about his appearance, leading to a few coworkers arranging for him to have a talk with the boss.

“Nick, I’m gonna give it to ya straight. You look like a walkin’ skeleton. You need to go home and get some rest or change _somethin’_.”

And, thanks to his luck, as soon as he got home, he saw that Jordan was standing on his porch, standing on her hip with her hands resting on her sides. Once his eyes laid on her, he was shaking his head, his breathing becoming ragged as he attempted to turn and walk away. She approached him quickly though, forcing him to turn around and face her. She observed him, noticing his five-o’clock shadow and the dark circles around his eyes. She didn’t pity him, though. It was his own fault he was this way.

“Did you know that Daisy is with Gatsby right now?”

His heart sank. She did that on purpose, made it sound like something it wasn’t, but Nick’s mind went to the worst and he felt himself choke.

Simply, in a monotonous voice, he looked at her and said, “Oh? She’s left Tom?”

Her jaw fell slightly, his response surprising, but she frowned and crossed her arms, cocking her head and pretending to search for something on him to make him uneasy. Or, more uneasy.

“Are you _aware_ of why she’s over there _comforting_ him?”

He hesitated, “Why would _she_ be _comforting him?_ ”

She scoffed, “You don’t know! Are you _crackers?_ Or are you just so caught up in your own head that you can’t see the world around you, hmm?”

“I-I don’t know-”

“I’m sure you weren’t aware that I found him hiding in his bedroom, afraid that-”

“Shut your trap!” Nick snapped, forming fists at his side. She paused, startled by his sudden outburst, and the pain in his eyes began to reveal itself from behind his facade of numbness. “I’m sure _you_ weren’t aware that it was _my_ fault he was nearly bumped off- I am one bad number that he doesn’t need to be calling.” Suddenly, his voice was soft. “He’s probably better off.”

“-afraid that,” Jordan continued, her voice cautious, “Wolfsheim would take him again and you wouldn’t care.”

Nick could only imagine it. Jordan demanding to be let into the mansion and finding Gatsby probably hiding in bed, wondering when he’d be back, or if he even cared, or if Wolfsheim was back for more and he was done for.

This time, with absolutely no one to care.

These thoughts only rattled Nick more and he swallowed. If his blood pressure rising hadn’t already made him appear red, the embarrassment in his cheeks was doing the job. She almost smirked at this, seeing that she had actually gotten through to him. He looked down, putting his hand on his forehead, and he let out an exasperated and weary sigh.

“What have I done?”

Meanwhile, at the Gatsby residence, more drama had ensued than ever before.

Seeing Daisy face at the front door, hoping to see Nick, had nearly given Gatsby a heart attack. At first it was disappointment, then anger, then a sinking feeling of such awful depression that he could barely speak. He still missed her after being in love with her, anyone could see that- it was a natural reaction, but still the only person on his mind was Nick. 

He invited her in, her being the first person that he opened the door to in a while. Hiis voice almost silent. Unlike their first meeting at Nick’s house where he had been sweating bullets, both of them too nervous to utter a word to the other, Gatsby just felt tired and sick. The two sat in the living room in silence, Daisy uneased as she tried to figure out what to say. Gatsby was the last person she wanted to talk to due to their history- Jordan had just convinced her to help. Besides, a part of her still cared about him deeply and would hate for him to actually die. Especially because of this.

“Jay…” she strained, biting her lip unsurely, “has… something happened?”

He almost didn’t answer he was so lost in nothing, disassociating so hard he might as well have been in space. The call of his name though, especially by her silky voice, brought him back into the moment and he swallowed, his stomach churning.

“I’ve… had some trouble… nothing you should worry about, love.”

His attempt at being convincing had ultimately failed, but he forced a smile as if he were fine. Typical Gatsby, except this time he didn’t care if she believed him. 

She moved closer, sitting close enough to touch, and he didn’t bother resisting the urge to rest his head on her shoulder. She allowed it, feeling that it comforted him even the slightest bit, and within a few minutes he began talking once again, his voice scratchy.

“Nick… is he okay?”

She was taken off guard by this considering he’d barely been talking, but she did good with not showing it and she slowly shook her head.

“I’m not sure… we haven’t spoken in so long… But he had sounded so worried about you...” 

Her voice was yearning as she spoke about him. She missed her cousin whom she considered a friend and she wondered what Jordan could have been saying to him at that moment.

Their meetings with the boys were planned amongst themselves, of course. Jordan realizing what they were doing to themselves and reporting it all to Daisy (considering they were friends and all) had given them the idea to get them back together again. Daisy couldn’t see her cousin kill himself and Jordan, well- she cared more than she cared to admit about both of them. Though it took a lot of convincing, Daisy agreed to see Gatsby for her and it wasn’t as bad on her part as she assumed. 

“Jordan told me what happened… are _you_ okay?”

He tensed, flashbacks of being tied to a chair and whipped upon other torturous things happening to him coming back at him all at once and he bit his tongue, taking a few slow, deep breaths before responding.

“Not quite,” he managed, “not at all. I… I can’t sleep nor eat- Daisy, I’m going mad.”

She turned to look at him for the first time that day, guilt setting as she saw the emptiness in his eyes. It was obvious he felt lost and alone, completely hurt and even _terrified_ , but she had _no_ idea what to do other than get Nick over there, and she couldn’t do that. 

Helplessly, she thought she couldn't do anything.

But she tried to help anyways.

“What can I do?” She asked, taking note of his ever-so-light trembling. He sighed deeply and sat up, rubbing his eyes then covering his face.

To say the least, he was exhausted.

“Leave me be.”

And so she did, regretting every step to the door. She wasn’t what he needed right then, though, and she knew that. There was a time where he would have loved and wanted nothing more than to hold Daisy. Then, that would have been his best medicine and he’d have been cured. Things seem edto be different with Nick, though. That man could make him hurt as badly as he could make him feel loved, and at that moment, he felt so hurt he could die of heartache.

So, as she left the Gatsby residence, she made her way to her cousin’s place. 

The knock on the door had knocked the wind out of Nick and he felt so anxious he began to shake.

Nick and Jordan had moved inside from standing on the lawn for Nick’s comfort, but hearing the door being knocked on gave Nick the instant mental image of James and he was not ready to see him just yet.

Jordan opened the door as a precaution, but once it was open Daisy was bursting in and immediately finding Nick.

“Nick Carraway!” She almost shouted, catching herself before doing so because, _duh_ , she’s a _lady._ Seeing him sitting on the couch, though, hunched over and facing the floor, made her stop in her tracks and made pity find her. It was hard to see people that meant so much to her so hurt. “Nicky?”

“Daisy, it’s nice to see you,” he muttered bitterly, not even trying to look at her. His hands were clasped in front of him, tensed and gripping to keep himself cool, and Daisy could tell from just the look of him that he was in the same place Gatsby was.

Feeling lost and alone, empty and confused, and heartbroken for no reason.

Perhaps he knew what he was doing. But _why_ would he do it? Why would he hurt himself, and most of all _Gatsby,_ like this? Nick’s never been a very complicated person, at least not with Daisy, but this was the most closed off she had ever seen him.

The most broken.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. The whole situation flabbergasted her. Jordan stood as she pondered and drew her away, whispering a few words out of Nick’s ear-shot before they came back and Daisy was dropping to her knees before Nick, gently taking his hands and softening her voice.

“Won’t you talk to me, honey?”

No response.

“Nick… won’t you talk to Gatsby?’

Nick winced at the sound of his name and he squeezed his hands tighter with Daisy’s. She flinched slightly, not expecting it, and she swallowed. 

“You two have been… close, haven’t you?”

“Daisy, please, Gatsby is the _least_ of my worries right now-”

“He’s all you’re worrying about,” she corrected, letting go of a hand to gently rest hers on his face. His cheek wetted her thumb and she cocked her head to the side, gently rubbing circles on his cheek to comfort him. “You’re all he’s worrying about… why won’t you see him?”

Nick almost didn’t respond at first, but over the course of the week he was realizing just how childish he was being- how selfish and even cruel to Gatsby he was being. The man endured torture for a week, but a broken heart? Even he could barely handle that.

Finally, he just couldn’t help himself.

“I must see him,” Nick said, attempting to stand but finding that as he did, his vision turned black and he was forced to sit again. This prompted Daisy to stand and she helped him gain his balance, and as soon as he felt he was good he was rushing to the door, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. “I’ve been hurting him for far too long-”

“But Nick-”

“Yes-?” Nick asked hurriedly, facing her before stepping out of the door. She cut a quick look to Jordan before biting her lip and looking at him again.

“Be gentle… he’s not well.”

From the warmth of the beginning of the day, dawn went down and brought on the green, making everything plain and cold. The glowing vision once received when falling in love had been replaced with a film of grit and blur, especially for Nick as he found Gatsby’s front door harder to see as he approached it. His feet felt heavy and breathing shallow as he focused on the wood, taking deep breaths, but his vision came in and out and he fought the impulse to turn around. He had never been that nervous in his life and he knew he was probably being dramatic, making him feel more embarrassed, but thoughts such as _‘What if he’s not actually in there? What if he was taken from me? What if he’s dead?’_ swarmed his mind and it made the tears blurring his vision start to stream.

He lightly knocked first, feeling no confidence, but a burst of it hit him all at once and suddenly he was pounding on the wood with desperation. There was no answer at first, as expected, but when he yelled out “James!”, the door then swung open and they were finally standing face-to-face, the only sound, then, being Nick’s heavy breathing.

Gatsby’s eyes were just the same as they had been a week ago. Empty and screaming with terror. But it seemed, for a second, that all of that was melting away as they looked at each other. They both searched for words to say, questions to ask, but nothing could be said that wouldn’t turn into a sob. So instead, the two fell into each other’s embrace and Nick let Gatsby bury his face in the crook of his shoulder, neither of them caring that God and everybody could see them if they wanted too.

After some long, savored seconds had passed, Gatsby was pulling Nick into his home and before Nick could realize it, his jacket was being pulled off and belt removed. He gasped, feeling himself stiffen, but then the rest of his breath was taken by Gatsby’s delicious kiss and once again he was putty in his hands. This was only the case for a second, though, before Gatsby’s quaking hands and rapid breathing caught his attention and he became, impossibly, even more worried.

“James…” he breathed, his head leaning back as kisses trailed down his neck. Taking it as a moan of his name the older man continued, but when Nick said his name again with a type of force, he removed himself from him and looked at him, perplexed.

“Yes..?”

“What… are we doing? What- what is this?”

Disappointment struck Gatsby, then guilt. “You don’t want me.”

Nick held his breath and shook his head, looking at Gatsby with surprise. “No, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“Why else would you ignore me for a week after what I’ve been through? After saying... you wouldn’t leave me? What have I done, Nick?”

In an instant, Nick’s mind flashed back to seeing James just dumped on his doorstep. His blood had glistened under the moon and his breathing was ragged and painful. His heart ached at the memory and he searched for words to say, not wanting to admit his problem, but it flew from him like time had.

“I couldn’t take you leaving me anymore! Thinking you could have _died- twice-_ how it could happen _again…”_ Nick swallowed, wiping his eyes, “I can’t take this pain. Daisy barely did.”

Gatsby was silent. He had no idea how to respond. Surely Nick knew that any of his disappearances wasn’t _his_ fault. Sure, he told people he was the one that ran over Myrtle, and okay, maybe he did do some things to deserve a traumatizing kidnap-and-torture mission, but Nick knew none of that was because he was _leaving him,_ didn’t he?

Slowly, Gatsby put his hand gently on Nick’s neck with one hand and used the other to press him back against the door to keep him in the kiss he gave him. Nick accepted it, his arms wrapping around him and eyes closing tight as their tongues found each other in their long-awaited meeting. It was the first time in a while that either of them had felt comfortable and, for once, relaxed. When their kiss had to break for air, Gatsby pressed their foreheads together and talked to him in a quiet hum.

“I left Daisy,” he started with an admission, “and I held off my arrival to her until it was too late… I used you as a tool to get her back and it all fell around me… except for you. Nick, you’ve been by my side all this time, my best friend and more… how could I leave _you_ of all people? I love you… old sport.”

At the sound of that word, _love,_ both Nick and Gatsby could feel their cheeks light up red like christmas lights. Nick’s heart fluttered in his chest and he opened his eyes to see that Gatsby was staring back at him, and the man took a step back and turned as to not display his embarrassment. Nick, though, grabbed his hand and used his other to make Gatsby look back at him, his eyes displaying intensity.

“I love you, too.”


	7. And I, You

They had spent all day and all night in bed, together.

After a long and lonely week of thinking one didn’t care for the other, Nick and Gatsby wanted nothing more than to spend every second of their time together. So, after their reunion and display of love, Gatsby had ushered Nick into the bedroom simply just so he could enjoy his company and catch up on two week’s worth of sleep.

For Nick, this meant getting back his sleep and reconnecting with the love of his life. He came to this conclusion- that that’s what Gatsby was- one night while Gatsby slept and he was too afraid too. Aside from needing to use the restroom the two never left each other’s side, both mutually afraid that if the other wasn’t in their sight, then they’d be gone forever.

He had stared up at the ceiling, gently running his fingers through Gatsby’s golden locks and recounting the events of the last month. Him helping Jay win over Daisy, Myrtle’s death and Jay’s near-death- it all seemed too story-like to actually be real. Everything had happened all at once and it made Nick feel like he was just a side character in his own life. It was only when Gatsby’s adoration had turned toward him did he finally feel like a main character.

Before everything, he had often thought about how he felt for Jay. Was he a friend or just an acquaintance he knew too much about? A neighbor, or a guy he was a wingman for? When jealousy began to develop as he helped him win over Daisy, he began to ask himself whether he was just a friend or more. 

Breaking out of his thoughts, he observed Gatsby’s sleeping features in the dimness of the room. How gentle he appeared as he slept, as if he wasn’t some self-proclaimed tortured soul or, rather, hadn’t actually been tortured. Gatsby was stronger than he thought he was and Nick admired that and more about him, and as he admired him longer, his heart swelled in his chest and he finally came to the idea that James Gatsby was, indeed, the love of his life.

It was as Nick slept, also, that Gatsby had thought about their relationship.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Nick romantically even while he was chasing after Daisy. Nick had been by his side, basically his beck-and-call, the whole time, and he would have done anything for him. They were all acts of devotion and friendship and loyalty, to say that he was there for him, but in Jay’s eyes, they were to say that he’d do anything to see him (and, of course, Daisy) happy. Nick was there when he needed him no matter what.

What really turned the tide from friendship to budding romance was when he awoke in the hospital and was told that Nick was expecting him. _He_ was _there every day._ He was scared that he was dead, angry at everyone and everything because no one else seemed to care- but Gatsby didn’t care that no one else cared, because if Nick wouldn’t have, then he truly wouldn’t have had much to live for anyways.

It was obvious to him that he was in love with Nick before Nick fell for him, but he was okay with that. Nick was a complicated man who needed time to process and understand his emotions, to really get the world around him, and when it came to Nick, Gatsby would wait forever as long as he had him. 

Hearing Nick tell him that he loved him made angels sing.

He also thought about his week held by Wolfsheim as Nick slept, too. Not even The Great War had scared him that badly. 

_He stood in his office, pacing anxiously as he thought about how Nick had left in a hurry, his words repeating that he wouldn’t be able to attend the party. As far as he knew, he was completely alone, and he was fine with that. Before he could realize it, though, someone was hitting his head against his desk and he was out like a light._

_When he awoke, he was sitting in a chair with his ankles tied to the legs and wrists tied behind the chair’s back._

_In the darkness._

_When he had yelled out, asking if anyone was there, he could hear the soft, maniacal laugh that belonged to no one other than Meyer Wolfsheim. The lights turned on, allowing the room to stay dim but visible, and as the gangster approached him two men appeared by his side holding chains, bats, knives, and other items which made Gatsby more unsettled by the second._

_“What is the meaning of this?” Gatsby had asked, swallowing as he tried to keep his breathing normal. Wolfsheim had cocked a brow, taking in Gatsby’s image as he answered._

_“You’re much too good at slipping up, Gatsby,” he hummed, signaling for his goons to take their places besides Jay, “much too vulnerable to letting the fuzz in on our businesses.”_

_“You think I’ve been talking to someone?”_

_“I think Nick might,” he corrected, pacing back and forth in front of him. The sound of Nick’s name had made Gatsby’s breath still and, finally, he felt himself turn pale. “This serves more as a warning to him than you- believe me, I wouldn’t hurt you if I didn’t have too.”_

_Before Gatsby could get a word out, he felt a brass-clad fist collide with his cheek and his voice was all but lost for the moment. His head spun and blood ran cold as he hadn’t expected it, but Wolfsheim’s voice brought him back._

_“I saw how he had left you, old friend. Left you standing alone. I wonder how long it’ll be until he finds out you’re missing?”_

_Another fist. And then another, and then another until it wasn’t just brass knuckles but also choking wires, flames, and razors. Not enough to kill him but enough to send more than a message._

_But within that endless week, Gatsby hadn’t once thought that Nick had forgotten about him nor had he stopped caring about him. Really, the thought of Nick had kept him alive else he’d have had nothing to fight for._

So when he was suddenly returned to Nick and Nick did everything in his power to make sure he was okay and comfortable, he knew for sure he was in love with him. No doubt, no question.

Until Nick ignored him.

But that was resolved, of course, and it would never happen again. He had to keep himself convinced of that. His heart and mind was too fragile to not believe it.

Nick promised, too, that he’d never do that again. That he regretted it and that it was absolutely childish, uncalled for, and absolutely unnecessary. Gatsby forgave him, though, because he needs him and he loves him.

The next morning, after their reunion, when they were both awake and embellished by the golden sunrise, Gatsby had positioned himself so his arms were around Nick’s waist and his head was laying on Nick’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Nick held an arm around him while he played with his hair, his eyes resting closed as he tried to rest longer. His relaxation didn’t last long, though, when he felt lips on his neck and hands unbuttoning his shirt.

The two made love that morning, finally expressing in full their feelings for each other. There was no hesitation, no fear- only love and trust. Gatsby had finally accepted that he was worth it, at least in Nick’s eyes, and Nick had accepted that _he_ was who Gatsby loved and that it was no longer Daisy or that it was him _because_ of Daisy. Gatsby loved _him_ fully and unconditionally.

Afterwards, after another mini nap, they had gotten dressed and did one of their favorite things to do together; take a walk along the Sound. Under the morning star and feeling the cool breeze which the ocean helped, they walked bare-foot in the sand and hand-in-hand as they enjoyed just their company. It was quiet between them, the loudest sounds being the seagulls honking and waves crashing in the distance. It was perfectly serene as they walked hand-in-hand, and eventually Jay’s arm had gone around Nick’s waist, and just when Nick wouldn’t realize it, Gatsby had pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss to say that he wasn’t embarrassed to kiss him outside of their home. That he loved him no matter what.

He was becoming Jay Gatsby again. The confident, cocky man that Nick had fallen and continued falling for. And Nick was Nick again, the inquisitive and quiet man that Gatsby was an absolute mess about. 

After a few comfortable weeks of finally being back together, Jay had finally decided to throw another party. 

The town was ecstatic, and so was he.

The music was lively, the dancing extravagant, and the decor was absolutely marvelous. Everything was perfect and, aside from his relationship with Nick, everything was back to normal. Thanks to Nick, he was a complete puzzle. Nick was just the piece he had been missing.

Sitting in his office, waiting for Nick to join him again from a visit with Jordan, an unexpected guest had come up to see him.

Daisy.

She wore a beautiful, white and flowing dress and her hair was pinned up to make her look like the perfect porcelain doll. Since his week of depression the two hadn’t spoken a word, and he was okay with that. She didn’t need him, she had made that obvious, and he didn’t need her.

But yet, seeing her made him smile.

“Well, don’t you look splendid.”

The small compliment made her smile and look away as she quietly shut the door behind her and gracefully walked over to him. He sat on his desk, one leg crossed over the other as he fixed a drink for her. She took it without hesitation, taking a seat in one of his leather chairs, and was quiet for a moment before speaking.

“You and Nicky really enjoy each other’s company… Don’t think I can’t tell that he’s mad about you.”

The widest grin came to Gatsby which he tried to conceal by placing a hand over his mouth.

“The way he looks at you is how I used too,” she observed, her voice a bit somber, “and how he worried about you when you had gone missing…” She was quiet a moment before continuing with a question. “Jay, I believe… I found you so you could find him.”

Gatsby thought about this a moment, his mind flashing back to when he had seen Daisy in that house so long ago conversing with the other soldiers, how he had gotten her to be alone with hum and how it was basically love at first sight. And no matter how hard he had fought, their love didn’t last. 

He and Nick’s romance, though, had started gradually. That was the biggest difference. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Gatsby mumbled, putting his hand under his chin and frowning as he thought, “but I must say… I did love you, desperately.”

“And I loved you, desperately,” she said, looking at him as if she still did love him, “but it wasn’t truly… or else it would be me you were waiting for right now instead of him.”

Gatsby nodded in agreement, feeling an undiscovered weight suddenly lifting from his shoulders. This was the closure they had both needed and it felt so good to finally discuss their romance without depression. 

“I’ll always care for you,” Gatsby minded her, glancing at her to see that she was finishing her drink and staring off into space. 

She slowly nodded, and in a mouse-like voice she said, “And I will always care for you.”

She was gone before Nick had come up, trying to hide a smile of his own so he wouldn’t have to reveal that he was just talking about him. Taking a few drinks together, the two went back down to the party and had one of the best nights of their lives. Gatsby wasn’t much of a drinker, Nick knew that, but they both indulged in the party and thus their confidence grew, leading them to waltzing together and dancing wildly, making them the lives of the party.

And no one seemed to mind when Gatsby had clinked his glass to make an announcement and he had said that “this wouldn’t have been possible without the light of my life” then kissed Nick with a hungry fervor. 

After everything, Nick and Gatsby were absolutely, helplessly in love and stayed that way for years.

There was one more step they could have taken, and it was Nick between both of them that took that extra leap of faith.

One day, Gatsby had woken up alone.

PTSD had been easy on him in the last couple of years, but sometimes it was bad enough to bed-bound him. Feeling that Nick wasn’t with him had made his anxiety go through the roof in less than a second, but he held still when he found a sheet of paper on Nick’s pillow.

**James-  
I know I promised that you would never wake up alone. That I would never leave you and let you think I’d never come back. And again, I promise I would never not come back. You mean more to me than I could say in just one letter. Were it not for Daisy and a series of unfortunate (but also fortunate) events, I wouldn’t have you and I wouldn’t be the man I am today. When I think about the times I could have lost you, I remember just how devastated I was to think I almost did. But I believe you when you say you won’t leave me. I trust you. I love you. I’ll be waiting for you on the beach while you read this. Look on the table next to you.  
\- N. C.**

After reading the heart-felt note, Gatsby quickly whipped around to find a small, velvet box sitting on his bedside table. His eyes instantly filled with tears and his unsteady heart started beating with excitement rather than anxiety. Hurriedly, he rushed out of his bedroom, trying to stay as composed as possible as he left his house in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers to find Nick in the sand.

Against the brilliant blue of the sky and ocean, Nick stood alone, watching the beauty of the sea. Though he could hear Gatsby’s footsteps in the sand, he was actually taken off guard when he was turned around and pulled into a heated kiss. They had both lost their balance, during, leading them to falling and Gatsby landing on top of Nick. They laughed, embarrassed but also joyful, and Gatsby rolled off of him so they were both looking up at the sky. With one hand, he slapped his forehead and with the other, he grabbed Nick’s hand.

“You are absolutely the best thing to ever happen to me, Nick Carraway.”

“James Gatsby, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you,” Nick admitted, squeezing Gatsby’s hand and turning his head to look at him. Jay met his eyes with the most amount of happiness Nick had ever seen in them, admiring and adoring that twinkle and sparkle of joy. It was one of those moments where they had fallen in love with each other yet again, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last time that happened. “I love you.”

“And I, you, old sport.”


End file.
